


The Slightest Chance

by AngelsAggression



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsAggression/pseuds/AngelsAggression
Summary: He told himself if there was a chance, he would find it. He didn't quite count on the chance finding him.





	The Slightest Chance

Connor tenses from his perch in the tree, the early summer night breeze whispering into his hood and ruffling the feathers of his arrows. Someone is out there. He can just see them. He blinks, his eyes flashing a sharp gold as the world appears in muted grey. The figure is far enough away that he can see them glowing a sharp... blue? It's an ally? He blinks rapidly, his surroundings returning to normal. He waits until the right moment, when the person is nearing the branch that Connor is on. Then, he leaps, the momentum carrying him precisely where he wants to be, knocking them off their feet with him atop. The sound of his hidden blade unsheathing serves as warning enough in the dead of the forest.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?" He demands. This person is wearing a hood too. The native draws it back, and freezes. The familiar face of Desmond Miles stares up at him, his breath leaving in puffs that betray his startled state at being ambushed. He's still unable to speak when Desmond chuckles breathlessly and says, "We gotta stop meetin' like this, big guy."   
Connor barely registers the words, not daring to breathe for several seconds as he just _stares_. Months. It had been months, almost a year since he'd seen him. It felt like much longer, like a whole decade had gone by as he healed, tried to move on with little progress. The physical wounds left scars, but they were easy to deal with. His emotional ones were much harder to get past. He swallows hard, sheathing his blade. Desmond sits up slowly as Connor retreats to allow it, but the poor Mohawk looks so shaken that he probably barely noticed he moved. Glistening, golden brown eyes watch his every move and they stare at each other for what feels like hours. Desmond finally reaches for him. Connor shivers and almost shies away, like he's afraid that the time traveler is a specter or a dream.  
  
When Desmond's fingers rest on his cheek, the dam breaks. Connor grabs his arm and pulls him onto his lap like he's nothing, his hands roving over his face, chest, back, as if he needs to be sure he's really here. Then, he's crushed in a bear hug that has him gasping and sucking in as much air as he can, little by little. Feathers twined in the native's hair tickle the side of his face, and Desmond smiles despite himself. Nothing changed. His bear of an ancestor is still the same as he'd left him.  
"I thought you were _gone_ ," Connor's voice is little more than a croak. It sounds like he's barely keeping himself together. Desmond tucks his chin a little tighter against Connor's shoulder to try and ground both of them before he answers.   
"I was," he murmurs. "I'm... I'm dead in my time."   
Connor tenses and pulls away to stare into his eyes.   
"Dead?" He whispers, watching his descendant nod. But if he was dead, why... how was he here? He seems to know what Connor is thinking, continuing with some difficulty.   
"I-I saved the world. I used the Apple and it sucked out my soul. Then I was just... wandering this never-ending room, aimlessly. Then I saw you. It was you, just younger and... and we were here, you were guiding me along. You told me you weren't leaving--" his voice breaks and he tries to blink tears away, but they fall down his cheeks anyway. He forces himself to continue, even as Connor's thumbs wipe them away as they come. "Y-You said you were never leaving. So I kept following you until I woke up here. I've been wandering ever since, for hours."  
  
He swallows around the giant lump in his throat brought on by sheer emotion, and his voice isn't nearly as strong as he wants it to be, but he has to say it regardless.   
"I'm so sorry. Forgive me, Connor; I didn't mean to make you think I abandoned you, I swear. If I had it my way, I would've stayed right where I was. I'm s-sorry..."   
He watches the emotions cross the native's face until he seems to settle on a soft look that makes him ache. Connor presses their foreheads together, almost nuzzling him in the same motion.   
"There is nothing to forgive." Desmond slumps in relief, closing his eyes at long last to soak in his ancestor's presence, his warmth, the safety of his arms around him. It takes him less time to get up the courage to do what he'd been dreaming of doing before his untimely demise. Pressing his lips against Connor's sends a shiver down his spine.   
  
It isn't explosions and fireworks or any of that cheesy stuff, but it tingles, spreading warmth through him, sensation that he missed feeling while he was dead. He may have kissed him with a little more force than he realizes, Connor leaning until his back meets the grass. Or Connor was just surprised, but it doesn't matter. His mouth is moving back against Desmond's, uncaring of Desmond's fingers pulling his hood back and weaving into silky brown-black tresses. His bow presses into the native's back, but the fact of the matter is, Connor is focused entirely on the man kissing him. It's with gasps that they pull apart. Connor can't help stroking his descendant's cheek and reveling in the knowledge that he's _here_ , where he belongs.   
"Konnoronhkwa," Connor murmurs, the words like a weight off his chest that he's been desperate to voice for longer than he realized until now. Desmond understands that phrase perfectly, the first smile he'd shown in months curving his lips.   
"I love you, too." The look in the Mohawk's eyes is well worth the truth.


End file.
